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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27006955">Not Everyone Knows How to Draw a Salt Line</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ertrunkener_Wassergeist/pseuds/ertrunkener_Wassergeist'>ertrunkener_Wassergeist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fae AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cultural Differences, Fae AU, Fihrie are the Fae of Galahd, Galahd (Final Fantasy XV), Galahdian Culture (Final Fantasy XV), Gen, I Blame Tumblr, Me messing around with fantasy languages, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Worldbuilding, headcanons, selkie!Nyx, shape-shifter!Cor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:27:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,605</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27006955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ertrunkener_Wassergeist/pseuds/ertrunkener_Wassergeist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nyx had thought he had found his place in Insomnia. Amongst humans and fae alike. He misses the home he had been forced to leave behind, like all of them did. But the fihrie - the fae of Galahd - are unwilling to let things stand. They want their people back. As the only fihrie to flee Galahd, it falls to Nyx to be the bridge between two parts of the world, he had never thought could be connected with each other.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cor Leonis &amp; Nyx Ulric, Crowe Altius &amp; Libertus Ostium &amp; Nyx Ulric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fae AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971076</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue: How It Started</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I just want to make it clear, I blame Tumblr for this one.<br/>Special mention goes to agent-jaselin, hamelin-born, the-puppets-mistress and IgnisFelicis. You four are wild and I love you for it. This fic is dedicated to you. Another special mention goes to the wonderful Mikky from Discord. You gave me a well of ideas to work with. Thank you for answering my questions, and be sure that there will be more to come.<br/>This work deals with the fae. The fihrie (the fae of Galahd, for lack of a better word) are inspired by the fae, but they are different to a certain degree. With them there is no 1:1 comparison. They're my own brainchild. The fae of Lucis are pretty much the fae of our world however. Hope that helps clear up some of the potential questions. :)<br/>This'll be a gen fic, no focus on pairings, but there will be a strong frienship between Nyx and Cor. Though there's also a version of this in the works where they end up together XD<br/>Have fun reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It started, like so many things do, with a visit. However, there was no visitor to knock on the door, to be invited into the house and make conversation with. No. No one opened the door to let the visitor in, the only person in the room did not even know there was a visitor until the fire in the hearth started sputtering and a cool breath of air brushed along her heated skin.</p><p>It was a small hut, wedged between the jungle and the foot of the mountains that rose in the sky like a row of jagged teeth, with carefully insulated wooden walls and a pitched roof. Winter had come down hard upon the people of Galahd quite some time ago, and Shiva had guided her winds towards the islands again. The Wild Hunt was in full swing.</p><p>Moira No Name had prepared for the winter as best as she could, made sure to have enough wood, warm clothes and enough food in case of snow. But she was alone in a simple hut and a child on the way. She was not able to keep the fire burning high and bright, to renew the salt lines on her doorstep and at the windows. She had no one to stand guard over her while she gave birth.</p><p>There was nothing keeping the visitor out, and so he came. Moira may not have been able to see him, the fihrie – the man – who was now in her hut, but she felt him.</p><p>The young woman could barely think through the pain the contractions brought, but still her lips were moving in silent prayers. She was not willing to give this child up without a fight. Their screams would not be added to those howling on the winter winds.</p><p>The Visitor watched the woman on the bed, curious. He knew the humans took great measures to protect their youngest, but this female was alone. Alone and still defiant in the face of what she knew would come. She bared her teeth into a feral snarl as she felt him coming closer. The sound made him pause and look up from her swollen belly into her face again.</p><p>Her eyes were a golden brown, full of pain and determination and a challenge that made his own lips curl. Long black hair hung free, some strands sticking to her sweaty face. Something about her was... fascinating.</p><p>What happened next would be the pebble that would bring down the mountain that had not come into being yet.</p><p>The Visitor stared as Moira screamed, loud and animalistic, only for another scream to join hers. The cry of a newborn. The Visitor breathed in, ready to absorb the last spark of divinity that travelled on a newborn's first breath, to bring it to the <em>zitra lin napakahrta haschis </em><span>– the Cavalry of the Frozen Wind – b</span>ut instead of the expected result, something else happened. Something that had never happened before.</p><p>It was not the precious spark of divinity that settled on the visitor's tongue. Instead it was the seed of something delicate and growing.</p><p>He gagged.</p><p>It tasted foul, like something rotten, and he could not get it out. Each heaving breath he took, made it settle further within him, made it spread and he wanted it <em>out</em>. He felt himself stumble and the air shudder around him. He hissed and retched, his claws scraped along the wooden planks of the floor, but nothing was helping.</p><p>His thoughts were nothing more than a whirlwind of shredded questions tinged with desperation and <em>please help what's going on-</em></p><p>Instinctively, the visitor reached for the snowy white pelt loosely wrapped around him and pulled it over his humanoid form. It settled over his bones and around his flesh, pulling it into another shape. With an ear splitting roar, he announced his futile challenge against what was happening to him. Somewhere in front of him, a woman yelped in surprise and a newborn screamed. His vision was awash with colours, flickering at the edges with the promise of oblivion. He fought against it for as long as he could. In the end, he lost the battle. His mind shut down and the last thing he felt was his body collapsing on the floor.</p><p>Moira liked to think herself a steadfast woman, but she had no shame in admitting that when the fihrie she had felt invading her home, appeared in front of her out of thin air, her first reaction was to clutch her newborn child close to her and throw the first thing that was within reach. Which turned out to be the wooden figurine her mother had gifted her in happier times. The improvised projectile missed its mark by a wide margin.</p><p>She couldn't move yet, since there was still the afterbirth to take care of, so she could do nothing more than stare in horror at the fihrie changed his form into a gargantuan coeurl that barely fit inside the hut. The pelt was as white and pristine as the one he had been clad in while in a more human form. Not a single blemish was to be seen, which was a big indication which faction of the fihrie this one belonged to.</p><p>Once he stopped thrashing, seemingly having lost consciousness, Moira took a shuddering breath and dared to look down at her child. It was a girl. A healthy baby girl with ten fingers and ten toes, that showed none of the signs of having her breath stolen. No unnatural paleness, no white in her downy hair and she certainly wasn't mute. Moira was about to sigh in relief – whatever had happened to the fihrie, he had not been able to steal her fleeting divinity – but the breath shuttered in her lungs when her baby girl opened her eyes.</p><p>They were blue, and at a first look they seemed perfectly ordinary, but Moira knew what a coeurl's eyes looked like, and those eyes were now looking back at her, unfocussed, bleary and blue like a clear winter sky during high noon. The exact same eyes she had glimpsed from the fihrie.</p><p>With haste, she bound and cut the umbilical cord and wrapped her daughter in a blanket, she had prepared beforehand. With a groan she forced herself to sit upright, wrap the afterbirth into the old blanket she had been lying on, and threw it into the fire. She wrinkled her nose at the smell.</p><p>Through all of that, the fihrie hadn't moved or woken up. Outside the winter winds howled, carrying the rallying cries of the Wild Hunt.</p><p>Moira had never been a sensible girl when she had been younger. Always toeing the line when it came to human-fihrie etiquette, and now, trapped within her small hut with whom she thought might be The Ulric and a newborn baby girl with a coeurl's eyes, she did so again.</p><p>This fihrie had done something to her girl, something she had never heard of before. A hard frown flittered across her face. Her daughter would not have it easy as a fihrie marked and the child of a clanless woman. She was not any more sensible now than she had been as a girl when she had been planting flowers among the fihrie rings in the jungles, so she stood up and took one agonizing step after the other towards the coeurl in her home. She clutched her child, who had fallen asleep, to her chest and knelt down.</p><p>The coeurl's head was easily more than twice the size of her own. His whole form could be larger then that of The Lady. The thought was ridiculous. Moira reached out with one hand and hesitated for barely a second before she buried it in the softest fur she had ever felt. It was cool at first touch, like the fleeting sensation of melting ice in her hand, before she felt the warmth of life.</p><p>There were stories about The Ulric. He was the best hunter of the Wild Hunt, fast and merciless. Like all of his kind, he thought it beneath him to lie and was prideful. But there were also stories – lesser known and only muttered during long, drunken nights in bars – that he was more direct than most fihrie ever bothered to be, that he chose to steal the breath of those children to wouldn't have made it through the winter one way or another, that he took responsibility for stealing something that hadn't been his to steal.</p><p>It was the last one Moira clung to now. She would do anything to make life for her child as bearable as possible, and, to do that, she needed this fihrie's help; even though he had been the cause of the predicament she found herself in now.</p><p>With a tired but firm voice she spoke: “Wake up, fihrie. You stole something that was not yours to take. Wake up and take responsibility for what you did.”</p><p>The coeurl made a deep rumbling sound, almost like he was purring, when his long whiskers twitched and his eyes blinked open. Moira felt like the air had been punched out of her lungs. The eyes that looked at her, weren't the eyes of a coeurl. They were a human's eyes of a dark blue that was only ever seen in newborn children.</p><p>The Visitor woke to a woman speaking. He could not understand a word she said through the static in his ears, only made worse by the crackling of the fire. But he knew she was speaking to him. There was an intend there, determination, desperation, fear. He could smell it all. He felt a hand gripping his fur. He could have freed himself easily, but he was occupied with the feeling that something in him had changed. Some fundamental part that had been ice and gnawing hunger ever since he had entered the pact with The Glacian.</p><p>He tried to focus. What had happened? He remembered the hut at the feet of the mountains, the feel of new life being born there and the lack of the usual protections humans erected to make sure no fihrie could enter during the birth. It had practically been an invitation. So he had entered. A child had been born, but something had distracted him. Something about the expecting mother, and then...</p><p>She was watching him, one hand twined in his fur, the other holding her child close. She looked pale and exhausted, but there was a strength, a degree of defiance not many humans showed when faced with one of his kind. The flickering fire gave her skin a golden sheen that reminded him of the fire sprites dancing during sunrise.</p><p>The woman frowned and spoke again. This time her words were clearer.</p><p>“You stole something from my daughter that wasn't yours to take, fihrie. For your mistakes, you owe her.”</p><p>He growled. The woman paled even further and shuddered, fear clear in her very being. But she did not shrink away, nor did she release her grip on him. Brave human. Foolish human. He looked around. The hut was not large enough for him to stand fully upright in this form. And...</p><p>There was something strange with what he saw. It was still the same hut, but, there, for the first time in his life, he did not see where things came from but rather how they were right this moment. It was a hut made out of wood. A home, obviously cared for and lived in. He could see the <em>order</em> the human had brought into the chaos everything came from. The Visitor stared.</p><p>“Did you hear me, fihrie?” the woman spoke again, drawing his attention back to her.</p><p>With one smooth move he curled in on himself and peeled the pelt from his flesh and bones, leaving him in the form of a tall humanoid man, the pelt slung around him, with the skull sitting on his head like a helmet or a hood. The woman did not ease her white knuckled grip.</p><p>“I hear you,” he said, his voice more a growl than the bass tone it could be, if he let it.</p><p>“My child. You wanted to steal her First Breath,” she stated, far more composed than the Visitor would have expected.</p><p>His answer was a single nod. The woman swayed dangerously on her knees, but she soldiered on.</p><p>“But you didn't. Why? What did you take instead? Do you know the consequences of what you did?”</p><p>“The answers to those questions will cost you.”</p><p>“To Pitioss with the cost!” the woman suddenly exploded with unexpected energy. She leaned in until their noses were nearly touching. He could taste her humanity, her mortality on every breath she exhaled. “You owe my child for what you did! You owe me those answers! What you took was not yours to take. I don't know what it is, but I'm certain of that much.”</p><p>He didn't answer. Not because he didn't want to, even though that was a part of it, but mostly because he himself didn't know what he had taken. He focussed inwards. The difference was startling. He had grown used to the feeling of frost lining his power, the ice that gripped his core, but nonetheless had never quite managed to freeze it. But now that ice, these signs of his pact with the Glacian, were gone. Instead there was something else. It was neither fihrie nor Astral in origin, but... human. Delicate. Growing, blooming and dying, but at the same time so hard to destroy and with a beauty all on its own. The Visitor could not help himself. He laughed.</p><p>The human female in front of him growled. It was impressive.</p><p>“You're right,” he said with a flash of too sharp teeth, once he had calmed down. “I took something I shouldn't have, and for that I owe your child, I owe you. What I took was part of her humanity, part of her mortality. Oh, don't look at me like that. She won't live forever, just... longer.”</p><p>“How much longer?” the woman ground out between clenched teeth.</p><p>There was worry there. Worry about her child. Not an ounce of greed at the prospect of possible immortality, like some humans were prone to. His reluctant respect for her grew a notch. He tilted his head, thoughtful.</p><p>“I cannot say.”</p><p>“Well, you better figure that out quickly. You marked her!”</p><p>Every single thought he'd had ground to a halt. All but the knowledge of what this meant. From what little he could see of the newborn, she didn't bear the marks of the Hunt, which meant she bore <em>his</em> mark. He had made her pack. This tiny sliver of a human was his responsibility now, his to care for, his to nurture, his to teach.</p><p>His first instinct was to just take her with him, make her a changeling. But there was no child in his pack to trade for. Which meant he'd have to stay here. Somehow the prospect did not bother him as much as it probably should have.</p><p>“How did I mark her?”</p><p>“Her eyes,” the woman whispered, clearly close to passing out. “She has a coeurl's eyes.”</p><p>The birthing, the worry, this fihrie coming into her home and marking her child, had sapped her of her energy.</p><p>“What did you name her?” he asked.</p><p>She gave him a sharp look. She clearly knew that one didn't just give their name to a fihrie. She most likely didn't know the why, but her caution was good, if it had been towards any other fihrie but him.</p><p>“She is pack now. One of mine. What did you name her?”</p><p>The woman bit her lip, worried and exhausted. She came to a decision.</p><p>“Adrastea,” she mumbled. “Adrastea, daughter of Moira No Name.”</p><p>As soon as those words left her lips, she slumped forward against the Visitor's chest, body angled to keep her daughter from harm. He caught the both of them, wrapping his arms around both females.</p><p>“Moira and Adrastea,” he murmured, tasting the power along the names. He leant close and whispered to the both of them: “My name is Udalrich Rrischr Halvar.”</p><p>Both humans bore good, fitting names. He felt them settle in his heart, where the power of the Glacian's pact had sat not too long ago. Moira clearly did not know what she had just done by giving him her own name, too. What she had started and he just finished. A bond forged by the sharing of names was so much closer, so much more intimate, than what a human could ever hope to achieve through what they called marriage.</p><p>His eyes found the tiny form of the newborn girl. She was red and wrinkly and her tiny mouth bore a frown. He stretched out a clawed finger and carefully touched the soft skin of her cheek. It was warm. He could feel the part of him he had left in exchange for what he had taken thrumming in her blood. This tiny being was his now, no matter what either of them thought about it. And he would be to her what she needed most.</p><p>“Hello and welcome, little cub,” he rumbled.</p><p>As if she had sensed him, a tiny fist shot out beneath the blankets and trapped his finger in a surprisingly strong grip. He gave a rumbling chuckle.</p><p>“Strong little cub. I'll take good care of you. You and your mother.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Part I: The Visitor   Chapter 1: An Unexpected Visit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Nyx needs to deal with an unexpected visit and more than one message is delivered.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It started, like so many things do, with a visit.</p><p>The visitor in question however, didn't announce themselves with a knock on the door – there wasn't even a door one could have been knocking at. Not that this bothered the visitor at all, since it wasn't a human that was coming to visit. Or rather, the first visitor wasn't human. The second one very much was.</p><p>Nyx could feel the coming migraine even before anyone had spoken a single word. In front of him, and all the Glaives that had been outside on the training grounds, danced a will-o'- the-whisp gently up and down, radiating a smug sort of self-satisfaction. But it wasn't just the will-o'-the-whisp that had come: bewitched in its glow stood a human. And it wasn't just any human, but a member of the Bog.</p><p>Trepidation pooling in his gut, Nyx stepped out of the crowd. It would be best if it were him talking to the fihrie. So he drew near and pulled himself up to his full height once he was within an acceptable range, the Glaives forming a wide circle around them. They were silent, knowing not to interfere in the business of the fihrie.</p><p>“Well met, Whisp. We didn't expect you nor your company.”</p><p>“Well met, Second Breath. Finding you was a challenge worthy of us.”</p><p>If Nyx had been talking to a human, he would have raised an eyebrow, but here and now, he let his upper lip twitch in a show of satisfaction he did not quite feel. “You must be of great skill then. It is not often I need to be found.”</p><p>The will-o'-the-whisp bobbed in what could have been called a satisfied nod. “We know. It isn't often we have need to talk to someone of the Second Breath.”</p><p>“How true,” Nyx agreed, body still and poised like a coeurl before a lightning strike.</p><p>The other fihrie seemed to sense the mood Nyx was in. It floated to hover just behind the human's shoulder it had brought along. Now the Bog was between Nyx and Whisp, acting like a barrier, however the poor man still didn't seem to realize what was going on or where he was. Whisp must have bedazzled him quite badly.</p><p>“I have brought a human,” it said, placation and defence in one.</p><p>“Let him out of your light, Whisp. Then you have my full attention.” A rumble stole itself into Nyx' voice. “After all, that is what you wanted.”</p><p>For a long moment Whisp just hovered in the air, half hidden by the Bog. The man was small and wiry with the darkest skin Nyx had ever seen on a human, and shoulder length dread locks that peaked out from the conical hat he wore. Most of his figure was hidden behind a cloak made from strips of cloth sewed together in a way to imitate feathers. Beneath the hem a pair of wooden sandals poked out, which gave him at least five centimetres of extra height. His face was eerily blank until the glimmer of Whisp's light receded from his form.</p><p>Glazed eyes blinked and looked, bewildered. When they landed on the will-o'-the-whips, the reaction was instant. With an expression of pure dread and a yell the Bog scrambled backwards.</p><p>“Easy there,” said a woman of the Aliquantus Clan in the more breathy dialect of the Bog. “You're among comrades. The Flickering won't have you again.”</p><p>The Bog still looked around frantically, eyes wide in panic. Nyx couldn't fault the man for it. Waking up in a foreign place like this would make him attack the nearest person who moved wrong.</p><p>The Aliquantus woman continued to talk to the poor man, voice steady and smooth. “You are in Insomnia, the capital of the Kingdom of Lucis. You have nothing to fear here. My name is Lima of Clan Aliquantus. What do we call you?”</p><p>The Bog stared at her, his erratic breathing calmed slowly. His eyes wandered from the braids in her black hair to her dark skin and flat nose. The Aliquantus were the Clan who where in contact with the Bog the most frequent, and it showed in Lima's ancestry. Their new arrival suddenly became eerily calm again. For a second Nyx thought the will-o'-the-whisp had done something, but then the man opened his mouth and spoke: “I'm dead, aren't I?”</p><p>“What the fuck?” whispered Libertus somewhere behind him and to the left.</p><p>Lima looked just as flummoxed as Nyx felt. Muttering broke out around them. Luckily the will-o'-the-whisp had the good sense to not interfere here. Because otherwise Nyx would have figured out a way to rip a sentient ball of light to shreds.</p><p>“You're all dead,” the Bog continued, shivering like a leaf in the wind. He didn't notice the commotion his words caused. “We saw you burn! We watched as the Metal Nightmares came from the sky with fire and poison and you burned. You fought and burned and those who didn't die fighting or burning fled to the sea and drowned! I <em>have</em> to be dead!”</p><p>The training ground grew deathly silent. Even the gentle tingle a will-o'-the-whisp gave off, could not be heard. Nyx felt his insides grow ice cold and then raging hot. The muscles in his jaw jumped from clenching his teeth too hard. Lima looked like she was about to cry.</p><p>“When- There are people left on Galahd?” Tredd asked, voice thick with emotion.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>There was a sound somewhere between a high pitched whine and a yowl. It took Nyx a second to realize it came from him. He bit down on his left hand to stop. His vision grew blurry. There... were more of them, still? Nyx did not hear what the Bog said next over the blood roaring in his ears. Neither did he really register as people started to collapse or cry where they stood.</p><p>Alive.</p><p>That was all he could think about.</p><p>There were people who had <em>survived</em>.</p><p>And they had left them behind. Oh, what cowards they had been.</p><p>“You are... very human,” Whisp said from right next to him, a gentle tingle following each movement.</p><p>Nyx bared his teeth and <em>hissed</em>.</p><p>Whisp froze for the fraction of a second, its light dimming with a single, discordant note. It shook itself, sparks floating around it, and came closer still. “I released the human,” it said.</p><p>There were so many different things Nyx wanted to say or do, that it was nearly impossible to shove it all in a box to be dealt with later. It hurt in a near physical sense when he shoved his more human side away. Right now he needed to deal with what was in front of him. He had entered a bargain with the will-o'-the-whisp and it was now time to fulfil his half of it. So he forced his human side away, his need to comfort his friends and family, his need to cry, to rage, his want to just lay down and not get up again. All of his attention was now on the fihrie in front of him.</p><p>“We want you back,” Whisp said without preamble, light flickering with a feral possessiveness.</p><p>Nyx had to force himself not to stare for too long. “... We can't,” he answered, voice rough.</p><p>“Sure you can,” Whisp said like it was the easiest thing in the world. “You just go. My kin will even make sure you find the right way.”</p><p>Nyx choked on his own spit at that statement, though he managed to keep a straight face. Will-o'-the-whisps made one loose their way. They lured you off the safety of the known path, they fed on your desperation when you had been walking for so long, your legs gave out and you realized you were somewhere between where you started and obiar-haschihr – Behind the Winds, where the fihrie lived. For them to even offer something like this of their own free will, something huge must have been going on. But one very important question remained: What would this offer cost?</p><p>“We are honoured you would do this for us.” Whisp bobbed up and down imperiously at Nyx' words. “It must be a terribly daunting task.”</p><p>“It is!” Whisp said, smug that their effort was being acknowledged. “It was already quite a feat to bring one human all the way here. It was real tricky to get this one to follow, too. My kin hasn't had this much fun in a long time.”</p><p>“You have my compliments,” Nyx said, because flattery always, always worked.</p><p>Whisp preened. “Only the best for what is ours. You are ours. You belong to us and we want you back.”</p><p>And there was that again.</p><p>“You pay the Galahkari great compliments, but circumstances force us to remain here.”</p><p>“We don't like the new neighbours either – they are <em>so boring</em> – but you don't see us leaving,” Whisp declared full of indignation.</p><p>Ah.</p><p>So this was the crux of the matter. The fihrie were bored. Why didn't that surprise Nyx in the slightest?</p><p>“It will take time,” he found himself say. Why? Why was he saying that? “There is much to be done.”</p><p>Whisp seemed to pout, but at the same time it flickered with deep satisfaction. “Good,” it stated and settled in the crook of his shoulder. Nyx' fingers twitched. “In exchange for that time I will stay and you will learn. You are very human.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Heya guys!<br/>Welcome to Part I: The Visitor! *bows*<br/>I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but this felt like a good place to leave it off.<br/>So there's still people left on Galahd. That's something no one expected and no one quite knows how to deal with. The fallout of that will come in the next chapter. Not going to lie: I cried when I wrote that part. You should not listen to dramatic and emotional music by Hans Zimmer while writing soemthing like this. Just a tip. T^T<br/>On a more positive note: I really like Whisp. And Lima. Prepare to see more of them. <br/>Thank you for reading!</p><p>Until the next chapter! *waves*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Part I: The Visitor Chapter 2: The Unwilling Tag-Along</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Nyx talks with the unexpected visitors and makes a deal.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Don't follow the Flickerings. Ignore it. Turn away and don't look.</p><p>That was the first thing Broek had been taught by his parents, grandparents and the Elders. He still remembered sitting at Elder Panna's feet by the great bonfire along with the other children, and listen to her warnings.</p><p>Elder Panna's voice had creaked like the gnarly branches of an ancient tree in a storm, her whole face littered with deep wrinkles. She had been blind by then, but that had only made her more intimidating. In that first memory Broek had been scared. Because of the deep shadows dancing in the Elder's face, and how the darkness gathered in her wrinkles. Because of her sightless eyes and her long white hair, that rattled with the amount of bones and beads in it, each time she moved.</p><p>“Listen well children, for this tale might safe your lives one day,” she had said and Broek had huddled deeper into his moss cloak, but had still leaned forward, eager to hear more.</p><p>“Do not go out into the swamps after dark, for it is dangerous business to walk its paths without the sun as your protector. There are fihrie in the swamps, flickering like stars in the night. Will-o'-the-whisps the other Clans call them, the Flickerings is the name our Clan gave them. They wink at you, try to lure you from the safety of your path. They may promise you a faster way – less travelled and only known by them – a place to rest your weary feet, food and drink. Do not listen and do not follow. Never follow. Decline their invitation and leave behind a lantern made of brushwood. They will think the flickering fire to be one of them. Remember this well children, for if you get lost, there is no saying where or when you will be found again. If ever.”</p><p>For years and years Broek had taken Elder Panna's words to heart. Had only gone out into the swamps after dark during the most dire of circumstances, and had left little lanterns made of brushwoods at the crossroads to confound the Flickerings.</p><p>It had worked well for him.</p><p>Until it hadn't.</p><p>Now Broek sat at a metal made table within a stone building opposite of Lima of Clan Aliquantus, in a country he had never imagined himself to be in. He still couldn't quite believe he wasn't dead. Lima's assurances didn't make it better, neither did the steaming cup of limeschti in front of him or the hushed conversations in Hadnissa around him.</p><p>It was cold here. He huddled deeper into his sky fisher cloak and with a sudden ferocity that didn't really surprise him, missed the heavy earthen scent of the swamps, the sound of the insects buzzing around him and the low murmur of the water beneath him. He wanted his home. Spirits, what would his husband think? He had lost his stilts and his fisher basket somewhere along the way, if they should be found abandoned, people would assume the worst.</p><p>“I need to go home,” he muttered.</p><p>Lima gave him a pitying smile. Broek hated it.</p><p>“May we have a name to call you by?” she asked again.</p><p>“... Broek.”</p><p>“Fahlana, Broek. It's good to meet you despite the circumstances.”</p><p>He just took a sip of his limeschti to distract himself from another vicious stab of homesickness and looked around. There were so many Galahkari here. Members of Clans thought lost to them in the Devastation. Furia, Lazarus, Arra, Bellum, Altius, Sarcina, Najad, Khara, Ostium.</p><p>Some looked more obvious Galahkar than others and they all wore some kind of uniform. Broek was about to ask about that when a man stepped through the crowd towards him. He was so obviously Ulric, Broek nearly flung himself out of his chair to get away from him. He'd had enough of fihrie mischief to last him a lifetime. From the set of the Ulric's mouth, the other man could tell what Broek was thinking.</p><p>The Bog took a closer look at the Ulric and saw a glimmer of humanity beneath the fihrie cold eyes. It didn't make him feel any safer here in this foreign land, but that along with the lack of averse reaction of the other humans in the room, went a long way to keep him from actually bolting. Well, that and the trepidation of the unknown awaiting him outside this room.</p><p>“Fahlana, Bog,” the Ulric greeted, his rumbling accent hard to understand. “If everyone at the table is in agreement, I'll take this seat.”</p><p>Broek really didn't know why the Ulric was all but asking, if he could sit down. Lima cast him an amused look. It was so strange, seeing people being so... casual – for lack of a better term – with a fihrie.</p><p>“I don't have anything against it,” Lima said and motioned towards the empty chair next to her.</p><p>They both looked at Broek, who, after a few seconds, gave a tentative nod. The others would keep the Ulric from doing something nasty, right?</p><p>“Good,” the man said and sat down. “People around here call me Nyx or Ulric. You may as well, if you wish.”</p><p>Ulric gave him an expectant look. Broek knew that politeness dictated he give the fihrie a name to call him by, but Broek couldn't bring himself to speak. Ulric just sighed. The overwhelming disappointment resonating in that one sound was nearly overwhelming.</p><p>“I'll keep calling you Bog, then.”</p><p>There was a rather awkward pause in which Ulric exchanged a look with a person Broek couldn't see. He didn't dare to turn around and take a look.</p><p>“Whisp told me you were brought here as a gift to me and as proof that they can bring a human the whole distance from here to Galahd. That makes you my responsibility. I'll make sure you have what you need until we know what happens. Don't worry, we offered you a welcome. Guest rights dictate we do not harm you as long as you keep to the rules.”</p><p>Broek swallowed and nodded. That was... good. But still. He didn't understand why he was here at all. What dealings had an Ulric with the Flickerings? It had been generations since an Ulric had set foot into the swamps.</p><p>“I... I don't understand.”</p><p>Ulric tilted his head, curious and predatory at the same time. His cool blue coeurl eyes stared Broek down and seemed to try and dig all of his secrets up.</p><p>“What I'm doing here.”</p><p>“That's easy. You'll stay with us until we can get you back.”</p><p>“You... oh.”</p><p>And Broek remembered the lessons he'd had at Elder Panna's knees. To be always courteous and polite, should he absolutely have no other choice but to talk to a fihrie, to never give his full name and to always, always be careful with each word he spoke. But the most important thing was that everything a fihrie did, came with a price.</p><p>“What do you want in exchange?”</p><p>The answering grin he got was sharp and filled with teeth that weren't quite human enough. Broek shuddered.</p><p>“Answers,” Ulric said, a rumbling purr underlining his voice. He sounded pleased.</p><p>“I'll tell you what I know about the Devastation.” Broek somehow managed to make his voice sound firmer than he felt.</p><p>The purr got louder. “I like you. Tell us all you know about what you call the Devastation, and I'll see what I can do about your situation.”</p><p>“Good,” someone said to Broek's left. He turned around and was confronted with an Ostium carrying a tray laden with plates full of food. “Now that the dramatics are over we can all eat. You-” the Ostium pointed with his free hand at Broek- “must be hungry. Spirits know how long that whisp had you. Let's hope you didn't make a stop at the Fihrie Market.”</p><p>“I think it would have been obvious by now, if he had eaten or drunk something from the Market,” Lima commented, voice dry. She had been strangely relaxed through the whole talk.</p><p>“Libs,” Ulric whined.</p><p>Actually <em>whined</em>.</p><p>Broek nearly spit out the limeschti he had been drinking, glad that his conversation with the fihrie seemed to be over for now.</p><p>“Ain't working,” the Ostium grouched. “Bog's story can wait until this evening, when everyone is able to hear it. Not just us.”</p><p>“There's more? People I mean,” Broek burst out.</p><p>Looking around the large room that seemed to be some kind of dining hall, he estimated there to be at lest a hundred Galahkari present. Those were a hundred more than he thought were alive the last time he had been able to think clearly. He hesitated to think about how much time had actually past between the Flickering catching him and his arrival here.</p><p>The Ostium gave him an understanding look. “Yeah. You'll see once we get out of here. But now, eat.”</p><p>With that he shoved one of the plates in front of him. Broek decided to listen to his grumbling stomach and didn't protest.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Nyx leaned against the wall, buried his face in his hands and muffled a keen between his palms. He had just now been able to escape the excitement in the mess hall to have a small breakdown, before the tension ripped him apart from within. But of course it wasn't to be.</p><p>“This is not the response you should have. You were doing so well,” chimed Whisp from his right shoulder.</p><p>The fihrie had made itself sparse when Nyx had entered the mess hall to talk to the Bog. He had been glad for it, though he doubted it had been done out of any amount of consideration for the human's feelings. Maybe a small part of Nyx had also hoped that despite Whisp's earlier words, it had returned back to its swamps.</p><p>“I wasn't,” Nyx hissed. He felt tired, wrung out and absolutely done with the day. “The Bog is afraid of me.”</p><p>“That is only natural. Most humans tend to fear us.”</p><p>“You saw how the others reacted to me. That's not what I would call afraid.”</p><p>“A most curious thing,” Whisp admitted after a second of deliberation.</p><p>Nyx gave a dry chuckle. “If you say so.”</p><p>He could practically taste Whisp's need to know and took vicious joy in his own refusal to answer the unasked question. Let the Will-o'-the-whisp stew a little longer for what it had dumped into his lap. Not too far down the hallway the door to the mess hall opened and then closed. A wave of sound spilled out, the clamour of voices made his heart lurch. Whisp bobbed forward as if he wanted to see the source of the sound. It hovered at the corner like a shy puppy not sure if it was allowed to join the excitement.</p><p>“You're pretty young,” Nyx determined.</p><p>Whisp gave a chime that could be nothing else but indignant. “I am older than you.”</p><p>“In years maybe. But everything else? I don't think so.”</p><p>“And yet I am the teacher,” Whisp declared, sounding smug.</p><p>“So you said.” Nyx gave the little fihrie a single nod. Then, a thought entered his mind. It was reckless and stupid and both Libertus and Crowe would most certainly call him an idiot for it, but right now it seemed the best solution to not have Whisp do as it pleased. “Maybe we could teach each other.”</p><p>“... That is not our original agreement, Second Breath,” Whisp said, but it seemed far from disinclined at the prospect. What a curious little being it was.</p><p>“You have to admit our original agreement is as thin as a single spider's thread and as easy to break as melting ice in spring,” Nyx countered, voice dry as a desert. “You want to learn, so I will teach you. And you say I need to learn, so you will teach me. That's a far more equal exchange. It also means we're able to ask questions for the sake of learning.”</p><p>And with that single statement, Nyx knew he had the Will-o'-the-whisp. Its light flickered in barely contained excitement as it bobbed up and down rapidly, chiming every time it changed directions.</p><p>“It's a promise,” Whisp spoke, tone solemn and laced with ancient power.</p><p>Nyx couldn't help the wide grin spreading on his face as something old and powerful began to stir deep within him. It was strange. Chaotic and unpredictable, foreign yet familiar at the same time.</p><p>“It's a promise,” Nyx repeated, just as solemn and that ancient power trembling along the edge of his words.</p><p>He knew what he had done, but he had never thought entering a pact with another fihrie would be like this. Nyx could feel the thread of their promise connect them, strong and flexible like spider silk, but it wasn't as restrictive or suffocating as he had expected it to be. It was just... there. It reminded him a bit of the connection the King had forged between him and the Crystal to access its magic, though that connection would be far more easy to break, if he wanted to. Nyx breathed a sigh he didn't know he had been holding.</p><p>Whisp bobbed close again and settled on Nyx' right shoulder as much as it was able, nestling itself close to his neck. A gentle warmth spread where it touched him, accompanied by the feeling of warmed air, though curiously there was no weight to the whisp's body. Nyx was about to ask what it thought it was doing, when footsteps grew near. He stood upright and was about to turn the corner, when he came face to face with Crowe.</p><p>“Nyx!” she exclaimed. “There you are! I've been looking for you.”</p><p>“I just needed a moment to breathe,” he said after a second too long.</p><p>Crowe squinted at him, clearly not believing his reasoning, but being the good friend she was, she let it slide for now, recognizing that he wasn't ready to talk about it. Instead she nodded.</p><p>“Yeah. No one was expecting that kind of bomb to drop when we woke up this morning.”</p><p>Nyx shot the woman that was his sister in every way that counted, a smile.</p><p>“So,” Crowe said, looking at where Whisp was warming his neck and shoulder, “your new friend is staying, I suppose?”</p><p>“We made a deal.”</p><p>The look Crowe shot him was sharp enough to be nearly physically cutting. Nyx gave her a slight nod to show her he was okay, that he hadn't been tricked into anything and that it had been his own decision. She stared at him for a few seconds longer, before she seemed satisfied with what she was seeing. But this would be far from the last instance they would be speaking about this topic, Nyx knew. And Libertus would have his own two gil to add as well.</p><p>“Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat, “why were you looking for me?”</p><p>At his neck Whisp made a strange little tingling sound.</p><p>Crowe snorted. “Funny you're asking that. The Captain barged in not too long ago because, you know, no one was at their posts where they're supposed to be right now? His face when he saw the Bog though, was hilarious.”</p><p>“He thinks I did something, doesn't he?”</p><p>“He thinks you did something,” Crowe confirmed.</p><p>“But I didn't do anything!” Nyx did not whine. He didn't.</p><p>“This time.”</p><p>“Alright, fine. I didn't do anything this time,” Nyx grumbled. “Happy?”</p><p>“Very. Now come on, before the Captain explodes and actually scares the Bog to death. The poor man has had enough excitement to last him a lifetime.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Captain Drautos was indeed in the mess hall. And he indeed looked like he was about to explode. The pinched look of his face only carved the premature wrinkles on his forehead and around his mouth in deeper. Nyx bit down on the unbidden laughter suddenly bubbling up his throat. The Glaives clustered around the room, were either whispering in hushed voices to each other or standing at parade rest, depending if the Captain was looking at them or not.</p><p>Lima hovered protectively next to the Bog, who had stood up, looking at the Captain with sharp eyes. So the man did have a backbone. Good to know.</p><p>“You wanted to see me, Captain,” Nyx said, stepping between Drautos and the Bog, propelled by the sudden wish to hide the latter from the former's view.</p><p>“Ulric,” the man said with the resignation of a man who knew that the source of at least sixty percent of his troubles was now standing in front of him. “Explain.”</p><p>Nyx tried not to bristle at the tone. He really did. But he felt less human than he usually did, had had his whole day upended and had just made a deal with another fihrie. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to keep calm. The effort was wasted when he heard Whisp tingle in indignation.</p><p>It shot forward and came to a stop at Drautos' eye level, barely a metre away from him. Its light flared bright and cold. Everyone in the vicinity went carefully still.</p><p>“That,” Whisp said, voice like the deep toll of a bell, “is not polite.”</p><p>Nyx had to blink against the sudden bright light, but he could see the Captain going deathly pale.</p><p>“My... apologies. I did not know the fihrie were involved in this.”</p><p>“Blood of The Ulric may be Second Breath, but he is still fihrie. Where he is involved, the fihrie will always be as well.”</p><p>The Captain cast Nyx a look he didn't know how to interpret. Trepidation? Outright fear? Realisation? Calculation?</p><p>“I see,” he said at last. “Glaive, return to your posts. Now. Ulric, the newcomers are your responsibility. You are excused from your duties until you have them sorted out. Luche, my office in one hour. I want a full report.”</p><p>With that he cast Whisp one last hard look before he strode out of the room. Silence remained. Until people started to scramble to return to what they were supposed to be doing. Meanwhile Whisp returned to Nyx' side, glowing a little less bright, a little less cold, but still flaring regularly.</p><p>“He is not good at playing. I do not like him,” it declared.</p><p>“You're strangely protective,” Nyx wondered.</p><p>It was weird. Fihrie did not get along overly well with each other. At least in a human sense. He had not expected a Will-o'-the-whisp to get protective of him so shortly after meeting him. It went against many things Nyx knew about the fihrie. Or at least things he thought he knew.</p><p>“Of course!” Whisp declared. “I am learning from you. Learning is an honour. Learning means you get stronger, more experienced. You are now a teacher. Teachers are very respected because they hold strength and experience. This I am asking as your student: Why did you not call for retribution?”</p><p>It took Nyx a moment to find the right words. “Because I am part of a fighting force and Drautos is the leader. In matters concerning the fighting force I have to listen to him.”</p><p>“He seems very comfortable for being in a position of power. You need to get stronger so you can challenge him.”</p><p>“What makes you think I couldn't beat him in a fight?” Nyx couldn't help but ask.</p><p>If a ball of sentient light could turn around in a deadpan, this one certainly would have. Even still, it got very close. “Because then you would already have his position.”</p><p>“Let's... let's talk about this another time,” he said with a sigh and turned around.</p><p>Lima was still standing next to the Bog, who had huddled deeper into his overly large cloak. It made him look like a grotesque crow or raven.</p><p>“You staying?” Nyx asked the female Glaive.</p><p>“My shift technically ended over an hour ago. I was on my way out when the commotion started. If you don't mind, I would like to tag along and make sure our new friend feels more comfortable.”</p><p>“Sure, if you want to. It'll make this whole explaining thing certainly easier. Let's go then, I know the Elders will want to organise a meeting once they hear of this.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Heeeeeyy guys!<br/>Look what I did. Isn't it nice?<br/>I really love the new OCs in this one. Whisp is like an overly curious kid that can't ask questions and Broek... poor Broek. And his poor husband T.T With the Bog siltwalking through the swamps, I got inspiried by watching Man Max: Fury Road again. Those Crowe Fishers look delightfully creepy.<br/>Drautos took one look and is already done with the situation. Here's a man who didn't really believe in this whole fihrie stuff until it hit him right in the face. And it's got to be Ulric's fault. Somehow. He just knows it. XD<br/>Hope you had as much fun reading this one, as I had writing it.</p><p>Until next chapter!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Part I: The Visitor Chapter 3: The Devastation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The invasion of Galahd, as told by Broek of the Bog Clan.</p><p>Slight gore warning for the end of this chapter. Nyx' last memories of Galahd are not pretty.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bonfire burned fierce this evening. It was small, it's light nearly swallowed by the mass of bodies packed into the courtyard, and still there were more arriving. Nyx stood slightly off to the side of the fire, where the people kept a respectful distance, acting more a guard to the Bog, Lima and the Elder Storyteller, Istoria Patientia, than a proper member of their small procession.</p><p>Whisp hadn't left its spot on Nyx' shoulder since they had left the Glaives training compound. It had dimmed its light so it was near invisible where it had settled, but it burned with a never ending curiosity. Whisp kept looking around, giving off a muted chime now and then that was full of excitement. At least it knew what discretion was, Nyx supposed.</p><p>He gave the crowd a cursory look. Luche did stand not too far away from Istoria along with Tredd and Sonitus. Here and there, further within the crowd, he could see more familiar faces. Fellow Kingsglaives, neighbours, the food vendor that made his favourite kreitschi. He looked to his left and saw Libertus and Crowe making their way through the crowd towards him.</p><p>“She asked you a question,” Whisp spoke into his ear when it saw where he was looking.</p><p>Nyx hummed. “She's my sister. Me, her and Libs survived a storm together.”</p><p>“The voice on the wind is only dangerous to humans.”</p><p>“It seems I'm human enough,” Nyx said with a wry smile.</p><p>The fihrie gave an unhappy chime. He wondered what bothered it so much. It knew he was a Second Breath. There was a humanity in him all other fihrie lacked. Nyx swallowed down the old bitterness that was about to well up again. It had no place here.</p><p>Instead he directed his attention back to the Bog. The man still wore his cloak and cone shaped hat, but he had changed the clothes beneath. His dark eyes were wide as he blinked at the growing mass of people. The expression of quiet wonder and awe hadn't left him since they had set foot into Little Galahd. It carried a certain... gratification for Nyx. They had survived and managed to build something here.</p><p>Nyx shifted when Istoria stepped forward, her wizened face unreadable, but her eyes full of a fire that hadn't been there for quite some time. The same fire had been ignited in near every single person who had met the Bog until now. With startling clarity Nyx realized that this fire was hope. True, smouldering hope that was close to being ignited into a bonfire. How long had it been since the Galahkari had lost their hope? Nyx didn't know, and that bothered him.</p><p>The mutterings of the crowd died down and Libertus and Crowe finally reached him. They flanked him in a quiet show of support and camaraderie.</p><p>“Galahkari,” Istoria called, her voice strong and clear despite her age. “Today something unexpected happened. Something we never even thought to entertain. A fihrie came in search for us, bringing with it, what it called a gift of goodwill.”</p><p>The last words were nearly drowned out in the sudden surge of noise. Nyx could understand. He had never expected the fihrie to care enough about the humans living on the same islands as them, as to go looking for them when most of them were no longer there. It went against everything the Galahkari knew about their good neighbours.</p><p>On his shoulder, Whisp's glow grew stronger. It let out a quick series of chimes when it caught the attention of several people in the audience. Was... was the Will-o'-the-whisp embarrassed? Nyx highly doubted that, but it occurred to him that the small fihrie must have never seen so many humans in one place. Galahd's swamps and marshes weren't exactly the most populated of places.</p><p>A sharp clanking sound brought attention back to Istoria. The old woman frowned, her cane held in a way that made it clear she had just hit it against the barrel the bonfire burned in. The people quieted down again, their eyes flittering from Whisp and Nyx, to Bog, to Istoria and back again.</p><p>Nyx bore the stares as best as he could, but he couldn't help the twitching of his fingers even though his face was perfectly neutral.</p><p>“This here is a member of the Bog Clan, brought to us by the fihrie who made contact with Nyx of Clan Ulric. It has been made clear to us that there are people left on Galahd. Survivors. The Bog has agreed to tell us what happened during the invasion of the Niffs. Are you willing to listen?”</p><p>The atmosphere became charged with an expectant and hopeful tension that made the fine hairs on Nyx' neck stand on end. No one said a word. It made the crackling of the fire echo like gunshots in his ears. The Bog shuffled a few steps forward. The man didn't look comfortable with all the attention on him, but still he tilted back his hat, so people had a better look at his face. The whole courtyard seemed to hold its breath as the Bog let his gaze travel over the crowd, carefully ignoring Nyx and Whisp. When he started to speak, his voice was full and rich, the cadence deep and rhythmic, but clearly unpractised to storytelling in front of so many people.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Broek was not involved in the fighting. Not really. He much preferred a supporting role, and as someone who lived in a difficult to access hut in the swamps, this mostly meant gathering rare herbs and guiding people through the swamps and marshes on safe paths. It was a role Broek was more than happy with.</p><p>For well over a year that was what he did. Collect herbs and guide resistance fighters while helping them avoid the flickerings. Sometimes his husband would help when there were larger groups. Then he would steer the raft while Broek walked next to them on his stilts.</p><p>The first time there wasn't a group of grim and determined hunters in front of him, but a group containing children, the wounded and the elderly, was something of a shock. Broek had known the fight was like ebb and flow. Sometimes the Galahkari won, sometimes they lost. But thinking back, the last few groups he and his husband had guided through the swamps had had nothing good to say. The Galahkari were on their back foot ever since the Niffs had resorted to utilising air strikes.</p><p>This first group of non-combatants had been from Ulnen, a small town located somewhere on the western islands, though Broek didn't know where exactly. They had been mostly silent on their way east, but there had been the beginnings of a heavy realisation there. A realisation that had grown stronger with each new group that had come to them.</p><p>People from the Dala settlement Bohlin had been next, and after that a group from Kihna. Broek supposed that was when it had sunk in for him. They were losing.</p><p>Kihna was the biggest city on the western islands. The port city that was the centre of trade coming from Tenebrae, and according to this group of refugees, half of it had been reduced to rubble and cold ash. The Bellum had taken whomever they could on their ships and sailed off. A month later, when he had delivered yet another group into the waiting arms of an Aliquantus that would help them further, Broek learned that a third of the ships hadn't made it to the east.</p><p>Not long after he saw his first airship. It flew low over the swamps, obviously looking for a way to land and finding none. It was close to dusk, and a part of Broek wished they would find that large dry patch at the edge of the marshes to the south, just so that the flickerings would have a feast. The larger part of him however, was unspeakably glad when the wail of the turbines vanished back into the west.</p><p>They didn't stay gone for long. It was like a dam had been broken. Like a flood the airships came, a wave of metal and fire. In the nights there was now a red glow in the western sky and the smell of ash and fire lingered even in the swamps. Then the flow of refugees and fighters ceased.</p><p>Not for the first time the Clan of the Bog met, this one a week after Broek had guided what would be his last group, but for the first time the topic of leaving themselves came up.</p><p>“We must decide what we are to do now,” their Clan Head determined, voice grim.</p><p>She stood in the middle of the amphitheatre that was the centre of their community. Every member of the Clan who had been able to make it, sat in the rising rows of seats made out of hardened wood. Broek himself sat next to his husband three rows up, together with other guides. The atmosphere was grim and tense enough, it made Broek want to pace to get rid of his nervous energy.</p><p>“We should leave while we still can,” a man to his left called.</p><p>“These lands have been our home for a good two thousand years. We managed to survive the dangers of the swamp and the marshes, we manage to live with the good neighbours, and they're a danger all on their own. I refuse to be chased off by a group of foreigners!” their best smith called from within the shadows the bonfire cast over the ranks.</p><p>“The good neighbours don't burn down every one of our settlements they can find!” the first speaker shouted back.</p><p>“Do we even know how many people have died in the attacks until now?” a third person spoke up.</p><p>“Too many,” a fourth said.</p><p>“I heard Clan Furia lost nearly half of its members,” one of the guides said to Broek's right.</p><p>For a few seconds a shocked silence descended over the crowd. Clan Furia had been nearly a thousand people strong. If they had lost half of their people, how then did the other Clans faire? Broek felt his skin prickle at the thought that his Clan must be one of the few that had lost less than twenty people to the fighting until now.</p><p>“We need to leave! As fast as we can!” the first speaker called again, voice now tight with barely held back desperation.</p><p>“Don't you think it's already too late for that?” Broek's husband said, echoing his own thoughts. “When was the last time any of us guided refugees or fighters through the swamps? When was the last time a day went by without an airship passing overhead? Let's face it: We already are behind enemy lines.”</p><p>This time the silence was nearly suffocating.</p><p>Their Clan Head nodded slowly. “He's right. How many do you all think would die, if we tried to make our way east? All of us. Children and Elders included? Too many. We don't have the ships to make it north or south to set sail from there. And our smith is right. We have lived here for longer than their so-called Empire has existed. We have watched the land change around us and change with us. We know these lands as well as they know us. But the Niffs have no idea what they're doing. I know you all have heard about the sunken ships to the north by now.”</p><p>Restrained laughter made its way around the amphitheatre. Then one of the Elders seated in the first row stood up, and all people went silent again at once.</p><p>“Our Oirkar speaks the truth. And the swamps are large, while our Clan is small. We can hide here and wait until it is all over. They'll never be able to find us.”</p><p>“And what about the other Clans?”It took Broek a second to realise that it had been him who had spoken. He startled.</p><p>People squirmed in their seats, looking at their feet. A second Elder stood up. This one Broek knew rather well. She was the one who had taken Elder Panna's place as their Lore Keeper after she had died.</p><p>“We will take in anyone we can find. As my fellow Elder said: the swamps are large,” she declared with absolute certainty in her voice.</p><p>No one dared to contradict her. She looked at the people watching her and continued. “We also have another thing in our favour: The fihrie.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Mutterings started. However no one dared to voice their disbelieve and frustrations in front of the Lore Keeper. They had too much respect for her to do so.</p><p>“I think I get it,” whispered Broek's husband into his ear.</p><p>Broek shot him a look, but before he could open his mouth to ask, the Lore Keeper spoke again.</p><p>“Quiet down. You all behave like children that have never heard the stories. One would think you have never listened to a word I or my predecessor have said.” It had grown absolutely silent again. “The fihrie have never been for or against us, and they will never be. They simply are. And it is us who know how to interact with them, how to survive their whims. We know the rules upon which they act and behave – for over two thousand years we have done so. Those invaders don't have our knowledge and experience. Do you really think the fihrie would be tolerant towards such ignorance?”</p><p>The first Elder looked at the Lore Keeper like she had grown a second head, but remained silent.</p><p>“Do you think she has been put under glamour?” someone behind Broek whispered barely loud enough for him to hear.</p><p>“You mean that intentional or not, the flickerings would protect us,” their Clan Head clarified.</p><p>The Lore Keeper nodded. “Yes. The invaders neither know how to avoid them nor how to trick them. The flickerings will never let them find us, because that is exactly what the invaders want. For not playing by the rules, the flickerings won't let them. The only Clan safer than ours at the moment would be the Fossura Clan. It would be reckless to leave now. I propose we send out scouts. Let us look for those left behind and in need, and let us take them in.”</p><p>With that she sat down and did not speak another word. She had said her piece.</p><p>“Take in the stragglers? But they're like children! They know nothing about the swamps and marshes,” someone called from within the crowd.</p><p>“Then we teach them,” declared the Clan Head. Her words had a finality to them, making it clear that for her the matter had been decided. “As soon as the sun rises we will send scouts to look for those who were left behind, intentionally or not. Those who wish to participate, put down your marks by the monolith after we're done here.”</p><p>“Will you go?”</p><p>Broek turned towards his husband. The Elders and some of the people had started another discussion, this time about the logistics of taking in new people, but Broek wasn't listening anymore. Instead, his husband had his sole attention, as he mulled over the question.</p><p>“You know I'm not a fighter,” he said at last.</p><p>A corded arm snaked around his hips and pulled him closer. Broek let it happen with an amused smile twitching at his lips. His husband had always been a very tactile person.</p><p>“But you know the shortest routes through the swamp. Out of all of us, you're the best when it comes to guiding people through dangerous places unharmed. That isn't an easy thing to do.”</p><p>“But...”</p><p>Broek made the mistake of looking into his husband's eyes. They were the colour of polished driftwood and around the left pupil was a sky blue starburst. Broek had never been able to say no when his husband looked at him like this – with absolute faith and trust and like Broek would succeed in anything he decided to do. It was humbling and his husband knew he would do near anything, if it meant he could have him look at that at Broek again.</p><p>“Alright. Fine.” He sighed with an indulgent and exasperated smile forming on his lips, when the arm around his hips tightened its hold for a second.</p><p>He set out the next morning, just as the first rays of sunlight started to peek through the foliage. It was a warm morning, but still Broek huddled into his cloak until barely a shred of skin could be seen. With him were a group of five other people, all of them trackers and sky fishers like he himself was.</p><p>It took his group three days to reach the edge of their territory. During those three days the landscape had slowly transformed from a swamp, to marshes, to the southern edges of the moors and finally the gently sloping hills of drier land upon which colossal trees grew. Broek had never been further east.</p><p>Only one out of the six of them had. She was the youngest in their group, barely above her teens, but blessed – or cursed depending on whom you asked – with an indomitable sense of wanderlust. So it was her who would lead them from here on out.</p><p>“We're slightly north of Aliquantus land,” she said, watching her surroundings. “If we go a bit further south-east, there grows one of the spirit trees on top of a hill. We can climb it to get a better grasp of our surroundings.”</p><p>Broek swore for a second that his heart stopped. Climbing a spirit tree? Had she drunk black water? As if she could read his thoughts – more likely see the expression of absolute horror on his face – she tilted her head and looked at him with a smile that could be called condescending.</p><p>“Don't you worry. It may be a spirit tree but it's also a waymarker. The tree was grown so you could climb it. It's also the highest vantage point within half a day's walk and the easiest to reach. If we want to know what's going on, that's the best place to go.”</p><p>“A waymarker! Not only a spirit tree, but also a waymarker! They weren't grown so people could climb all over them! Do you want the good neighbours to be furious at us?”</p><p>“If you've got a better idea, old man, I'm all ears,” their young guide countered.</p><p>Broek opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again with a scowl. He hated to admit it, but she had a point. The trees around them were tall, yes, with trunks wide enough that would take at least four of them to encircle one, but the branches were too high up to reach even with their stilts.</p><p>Their young guide nodded like she had just been validated. “I thought so,” she said and started to march into the direction she had indicated earlier.</p><p>The others followed her, an uncomfortable silence surrounding them, with Broek in the rear. He knew the others were just as uncomfortable with this idea as he was, so why didn't they say anything? Had they all forgotten the stories?</p><p><em>Well</em>, he thought resolutely, <em>then I have to make sure no one falls victim to a fihrie's retaliation.</em></p><p>He looked around, wishing dearly for daisies, to wreath them into chains. Instead, all he had was some leftover brushwood. He turned one of the thin branches between his hands with a thoughtful frown. It was effective against the flickerings, so it may work here? But maybe not as lanterns. So probably as wreathes or crowns? He frowned in thought. He did not want to seem pretentious, so wreaths would be better. They could be left behind as an apology and a plea not to come after them for their audacity.</p><p>Broek nodded to himself. That could work. So for the rest of their journey to the spirit tree he made wreathes out of brushwood. They were simple things and not very large, but he had made sure the thin and malleable branches formed interesting patterns. Hopefully they were enough.</p><p>They arrived at the hill upon which the spirit tree stood right as dusk set in. The very air seemed to have turned a reddish gold as the sun started to dip behind the horizon. It was a beautiful sight. Their little group walked out of the stark shadows of the jungle and onto a clearing. The grass there seemed to be edged in gold, and colourful flowers cheerfully danced in the slight breeze. Upon the hill stood a single tree – or rather, what was now a single tree.</p><p>It was obvious that the spirit tree hadn't started out as such. Like every one of its kind, it had started out as a ring of young trees that had slowly grown into and around each other. Now they formed one single tree. A waymarker. Broek knew with absolute certainty that if he were to walk through the arches formed by the individual trunks, he would reach obiar haschihr – the Beyond the Wind, where the fihrie dwelt. A shiver crawled down his spine despite the warmth of the weather.</p><p>“This spirit tree, it looks kind of young, doesn't it?”</p><p>Broek looked at the man who had spoken. He was the next oldest after Broek, who was in his late thirties. A distant cousin who already had grey streaks in his black hair and unusually light skin for one of the Bog people.</p><p>“What makes you say that?” Broek asked with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>His cousin shrugged. “Just a feeling, you know?”</p><p>Broek looked at the spirit tree again and tilted his head in contemplation. His cousin wasn't wrong. Like all spirit trees which were also waymarkers, this one was tall and proud with trunks forming arches through which at least one grown man could walk without trouble, before forming a cohesive one. But this spirit tree was formed out of at least three different kinds of trees. Which was... unusual. Or rather, Broek had never heard of it, and he had listened to every fihrie story there was.</p><p>“Come on people! While there is still light to see by!” their young guide called.</p><p>She was already up by the spirit tree, reaching for a pale, low reaching branch.</p><p>“No respect, that one,” his cousin huffed, but started to walk up the hill after the others.</p><p>Broek hesitated for a moment longer, clutching the wreaths he had made, in his hands. There were six of them, one for each person. With a prayer on his lips he followed the others. This was going to end badly, he just knew it.</p><p>Their young guide had been right. The spirit tree was easy to climb. Too easy. There was always a branch just within reach no matter how high they climbed. No matter that there were six of them doing said climbing. Despite being one of the last to start climbing, Broek was one of the first to reach the top.</p><p>The view was breathtaking.</p><p>The sun had just vanished behind the horizon, but there was still enough light to see and the air was clear, so the view reach farther than it might have otherwise. The trees to the east weren't quite as large as the ones to the west, with a silver band running through them. That was the great river dividing this island into two halves. Here and there Broek could see settlements peeking through the foliage. None of them showed any sign of life.</p><p>Further east still, and slightly to the north, there hovered a string of large airships. Their red lights were beacons in the darkening sky. This couldn't be good.</p><p>“What do you think they're doing over there?” his cousin asked when he settled next to Broek.</p><p>The rich brown branch they were on was still thick enough that they could comfortably sit on it, their feet dangling in the air.</p><p>“I don't know.” Broek shrugged. “But it looks like they're waiting for something.”</p><p>“Either way, it can't be good.”</p><p>They watched the airships for a while longer, but nothing seemed to happen. Broek was growing restless. He wanted to get off this tree. He turned the last wreath he had in his hands. The others he had hung on branches he had passed on his way up, a continuous string of soundless prayers and apologies passing his lips. His cousin watched him as he hung it on the thin branch right above his head.</p><p>“Don't you think you might be overdoing it?”</p><p>Broek gave him an incredulous stare. He was about to answer when the cry of one of their other companions turned their attention back to the airships.</p><p>More had risen into the sky. From where, Broek couldn't quite tell, but they were all now moving towards the eastern coast line. Dark clouds started to press in. The wind picked up. With rising dread Broek watched as the airships took a spearhead formation and then...</p><p>They couldn't hear the explosion at first, but just seeing it was enough to nearly send Broek falling to the ground. He wasn't the only one. Next to him his cousin yelped and grabbed the branch to keep from overbalancing. Further to his left someone screamed in shock.</p><p>By the time Broek had gathered his bearings enough to look again, the horizon was bathed in flames.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>For a long time no one spoke after the Bog had finished his tale. The only sound was the crackling of the fire. Nyx felt cold all over. Memories rose from the depths. Memories he would rather forget.</p><p>Memories of dropping bombs, the fires burning hot enough for the heat to prickle along his skin, the screams of those burning in the fires and those jumping off the sinking ships nearly drowned out by the deafening detonations. He thought he could taste ash on his tongue and the smell of burning flesh clogged his nose.</p><p>Nyx closed his eyes and saw it again. The receding coastline going up in flames, his home being reduced to nothing more than ash. The people that were still there desperately trying to reach the water. All of them failed. Nyx' ship had been the last one to successfully leave Galahdian shores.</p><p>He startled when he felt the slight warmth at the right side of his neck grow cold. Whisp was still there, but dimmer than Nyx had ever thought a Will-o'-the-whisp could ever be. It did not make a single sound as it hovered there, its light nothing more than a near invisible flicker.</p><p>A hand touching his elbow made him turn. It was Libertus. He looked pale and shaken. Crowe did as well. All of them did.</p><p>“We thought you were all dead,” the Bog repeated his words from earlier in the day. “We thought we were the only ones left.”</p><p>“Did you ever find any survivors?” Istoria asked, voice thick with grief and hope.</p><p>It was the first time Nyx had ever heard the Elder Storyteller talk with such a tone. No one in attendance had remained unaffected. He could smell the salty tinge of tears in the air.</p><p>The Bog gave a single nod. “Five Aliquantus, six Patientia, two Dala and four Utris.”</p><p>Joy and crushing devastation warred within Nyx' chest. Seventeen. There were seventeen more Galahkari alive out there. But there were also only seventeen more Galahkari alive out there.</p><p>“Who are they? Do you know their names?” Nube Dalla, a fellow member of the Kingsglaive, asked.</p><p>The question seemed to break through the dam of silence. Sound rushed back into the crowd like a flood. Questions were yelled on top of questions until not a single word could be understood. All the while the people pressed closer and closer. Nyx shifted. He caught the gaze of Lima Aliquantus, who was the person the Bog seemed to be most comfortable with. She nodded.</p><p>That was all Nyx needed. In one single movement he turned around, grabbed Libertus and Crowe by the hands and, with one single step, left the claustrophobic crowd behind.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And back with another one!<br/>Broek kinda monopolized this one, but oh well. In case any one was wondering: the lack of names used in the tale was 100% intentional. All those characters have names (because it's me XD) but Broek is one superstitios and overly cautrious guy. So no names mentioned. Other than Panna's. But she's been dead for years, so it doesn't matter for her. <br/>There's so much worldbuilding in this chapter. *nervous chuckles* Hope y'all like it. <br/>Until the next chapter!</p>
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